I am going to love me

Thanks to Karen over from WorkitMom, I'm making an effort to restart things a bit. It's been over a year since I last posted (and I only posted 4 times in 2009 sigh).

And it's weird the way things come together sometimes. A few days back, I was updating the blog I have on my son, writing about the vitrectomy he'd had last week - needed to tackle a macular pucker that had developed as a result of the Coats disease in his right eye. And surfed over to WorkitMom to read up on what other mothers were going through and coping with. Then Karen left a comment and I said to myself, I ought to restart the blog. And yesterday, the long-simmering troubles at home boiled over in a way I'd never have imagined. A few relationships have taken a fair amount of knocking and others have all but disintegrated. Unimaginable stuff happened, leaving me staring at the remains of my self-respect, my self-esteem and my theory that I had a more than a fair chance of coming out of this nightmare of a marriage with something of my being intact.

So it's back to the drawing board... sigh... well, actually, no. I have no intention of fighting any battles in this war any more. Ceasefires come and go, but the nightmare goes on forever. For me, there is no other way out. This is middle-class India we're talking about, where a woman who dares to walk out on an unreasonable spouse is punished by society (always, always), punished by the judicial system with respect to child custody and alimony (very often), and by her own family - parents, siblings (more often than you'd imagine). To make things interesting, you will have kids - especially boys - telling their mothers in some teenaged, hormone-surcharged rage, "No wonder Dad left you, you're a horrible woman."

But I digress... no more paralysis by analysis for me. I should put that up on my softboard at the office, at least. Or may be write it 10 times a day in a notebook, just to make sure my brain doesn't get ideas in the direction of self-pity.

For a change... I.am.going.to.love.me.

And at the risk of sounding cheesy and unoriginal, yes, I'm going to do it because I'm worth it. I'm worth a lot more than the s**t I get in return for back breaking toil and being somewhat true to my real self. Truth be told, I've no idea who I am anymore, because I've spent the past seven-odd years trying to be someone else, altering my behaviour to buy peace, bribe the spouse into a ceasefire, or just plain beg for some... what was it I wanted? Love? Respect? Acknowledgement, maybe?

I don't remember actually, and I don't care anymore. This is a new beginning. There are no counsellors involved, no outside help, no motivational speeches, no well-meaning friends, no self-help books. I've been see-sawing on this emotional rollercoaster for four years now and last night, I decided I was getting off the ride.

What am I going to do? I don't have a blueprint to a miracle solution. I'm going to take one day at a time (if you think that's a cliche, hang on and read the rest of the sentence) and every single day, I'm going to be true to myself. I am going to love myself. I am going to focus on me, what I've always wanted, MY dreams (trust me, I don't even have a real dream for myself because while I was growing up, I wasn't allowed to have any dreams, so it's an alien concept to me really), MY whims and fancies. I slave day in and day out and I get paid decently enough (enough to support a spouse and child and then save some) so I deserve to indulge in some whims and fancies every now and then.

I don't have the details - and given my irregularity in posting, I'm not even going to say 'watch this space' - but I am going to do some things for myself. No baby steps, but no giant leaps either. Yet remember, this is my road, my pace, my dreams my space.

Made up my mind...finally

It's been a crazy week. A lot has happened. I didn't want to post today because everything still seems mixed up. But I thought I'd just start with one thing. (Yes, yes, the vacation update and the handbag meme are pending. * hangs head in shame*)

Let's start at the office for today. I've made up my mind to leave this job. Not because I had a fight or because I'm seething about some usual politics. The fact is, I'm really not doing much - even though the pay is good. If I took an editing test tomorrow, I'd probably flunk it because the kind of editing I do is so narrow!! I've just about managed to resurrect my writing, and I think it's time my editing followed suit.

Besides, this place is a fiefdom, a durbar where the king & queen sitting out in the US of A use some very opaque methodology to judge performance. There are just no transparent performance metrics. Actually, there are, but they just prefer to ignore that. Most people are planning to leave after the yearly hikes come out at the end of May. I doubt I'll get anything. Long story, but it's true. So I may as well leave before that. I don't want any sour grapes stories floating around.

So even though the job market out there ain't so good, and headhunters take forever to get back (read 2 months after applying) I'll leave by the end of May. I just don't want to hang around here and watch all this s*&^ unfold all around me.

I may have to sit at home for a while - which doesn't sound too bad. And I could just go back to working from home, although that will require some rethinking with regard to the driver. (Don't balk and don't think I'm rich. Half of the people in Bangalore who can afford a driver for around Rs 6,000 a month - thats less than $150 - hire one because our roads are chaotic, to say the least. And since DH and I both get dropped, the economics works out fine.) But we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

Of course I think about whether or not I'll get a job in the next 6 weeks. It's being ambitious, considering I'm not an IT/ITeS/BPO/KPO professional. And I suck at the whole interview routine. But you know what? Just having made that decision is a great weight off my head. And I love that feeling. :-)

Drawing a mental blank...

I'm drawing a blank on what to post on my blogs. Writer's block? Maybe. I have a sneak feeling that the absence of misery in my life might have something to do with it. :) Yea...I've been miserable for the past five years. It's just that I didn't know I was miserable and depressed and thought that's just how my life was meant to be.

Then I couldn't cope anymore and sought professional help. Suddenly, everything was clear: like I had a bird's eye view of the past few years. I wondered how I had managed to muddle through that time. And when the professional help started to work, I had this huge burst of creativity. I was brimming with ideas on what to write on my blog. I had ideas for short stories popping up at all kinds of odd hours. I even wrote a few. I loved that.

I managed to get a grip on the uncertainty at work, learned not to let DH's mood swings affect me, developed an even better relationship with my son, and well...things were great. Even better was the fact that my son's eye condition was under control.

And now...I'm blank as far as my writing is concerned. The doctor says I'm progressing very well. So I can't help but wonder if the two are connected. It also looks like I'm slipping with the control I'd gained over my eating habits. At first I thought it was the usual PMS-related carb cravings. But I don't think that's it. For the past week, I haven't been able to write anything. (Trust me, even this post has been a major effort.) And as for ideas for short stories...muahahaha...(that's my insane laughter, btw...insane and hopeless...*sob, sob, sob.*)

Is this the end of the road? Or am I really not meant to write again?

Mea Culpa: greed, misconceptions and then some

Yup, the last post on my kid's bottom received plenty of comments (relatively speaking, of course). Which means people actually read it :-P
So I decided to wait and see what more responses I got. Plain greed, I tell you. Mea Culpa.

I've also joined two writers networks online. One is a forum along the lines of Facebook and Orkut, but more focused. You get to talk to other writers about issues we all face. The person who started it is doing an excellent job of widening the network and including writers from across the professional spectrum.

The other is on Yahoo! Groups and involves getting critiqued by fellow writers, whom you have to critique in turn. It's purely non-fiction and I was reluctant to join. For one, I've hardly ever been a spontaneous writer. For another, I'm from India while this group is mostly made up of writers from North America. I wondered how I would bridge cultural boundaries because our environment makes up a good deal of what we write.

But you know what, I was wrong on both counts. Once I knew I HAD to make an x number of submissions a month, the ideas popped up on their own. What's more, my very first piece was about a really localized concept related to Bangalore. And I still got some good reviews. People took the time to read something they were surely unfamiliar with and wrote back with encouragement and honest feedback. Now where can you get that?

I've made two submissions so far, and I must admit it's been good. Plus, you get to read some really good pieces written by people like myself - writing on the side and hoping to do more with that writing - and critique that. I think the folks who started that group are nothing short of brilliant.

The work and home front have not been that great over the past 10 days. I was quite wound up last night. I feel better today and decided it was high time I updated my blog and got on with the rest of my life.

Paradigm shift in personal fashion

I wore trousers to the office today! Black with pinstripes and teamed with a tunic and scarf. From all the compliments I got, I believe I accessorized correctly. (Ahem, ahem...patting myself on the back, there...and no, I didn't wear red stilletos...the pic just looked yummy enough to post!)

So why is this a big deal, you wonder? Well, because it's the first time I've ever worn trousers in a looooo-ooong time. And boy, was I nervous! But it seems to have gone down well. Phew!

When I was growing up, my father thought trousers were unfeminine and unbecoming for women. (Don't comment on that...it's a long story.) Besides, I was (and still am) fat, so I thought I looked better in skirts and that safe harbor of Indian fashion: salwar-kameez suits.

I had two pairs of trousers when I was around 4-5 years old. Then Mum got me a tailored denim jean-and-jacket set for my sixth birthday and after that, I had a pair of slacks as part of my winter school uniform in the fifth grade. (They changed the uniform the following year.) That was it, until 1999. I'd been married a year or so around then and it got really cold (we were in New Delhi then). I needed something like thick jeans for the night shifts I did, and even then, I teamed it up with a knee-length woollen sweater.

I outgrew those jeans after having my son and put on some (okay, a lot) more weight after that. So it's been just salwar-kameez and skirts, mostly long ones. No sarees, even. Mum says I look 10 years older in that outfit so it's a strict no-no. This is especially important because my mother is very pretty, not fat, and looks 10 years younger than she actually is. Oh yes, and she has a great sense of style. :)

Anyway, so here I am, this morning, wearing formal trousers to work. Feeling terribly conscious but what the heck...if I don't start to try to look younger at 34, I might as well call for sackcloth and ashes and begin to mourn my lost youth. Darned if I do that. So here's wishing I find more trousers in my size (and get used to wearing them).

ps: one advantage of wearing trousers is that I walk around with my gut sucked in...maybe my paunch (of course I have one) will shrink that way?

pps: here's what my son had to say after looking me up and down: "Hmm....you're not thin but this makes you look thinner than you are." Why, thank you, my boy. Just don't say that to your girlfriend when you finally get one. :-P

Image from Freerangestock

Trying to Take Control

I went back to the doc yesterday and had a nice, long chat with him. I didn't break down or get really angry. He listened for a long time before asking any questions. We focused primarily on the problems in my marriage.

I have tried to get feedback and change. But the more I try to adjust and the more I try to change, the more I feel like a pet animal being told to catch, stay or roll over and play dead. I never resented my husband taking six months off (eventually more than a year) to write his book. Never bothered about what anybody would think. Never asked him why it was taking so long. Never asked him to pitch in with the finances (he takes care of some expenses including the electricity and phone bills). He started doing a little more around the house, but frankly, that was something he should have been doing in the first place. (The doc agreed: "People work for 12 hours at the office, drive for an hour and then do some housework," he said.)

What did I want in return? For him to just hear my version when he accused me of something. But no, that's not allowed. "That's the problem in talking to you," he says, "You never accept it's your fault." Well, maybe it is and maybe it isn't. What's the harm in listening to what I have to say? Again, not an option. For the past four years, all I've done is begged to be heard. Just little things.

In the last fight, I was so shocked to find that he had a twisted recollection of anything I referred to. He refused to acknowledge most of what he'd done, pretending it didn't happen, and when confronted with proof, became offensive. Called me a liar (for the record, I did the same.) Anyway, I must have been pretty pathetic when I said, "I've supported your dream and I've supported everything you've done this past year. Don't I deserve to be heard, at least?"
"Who asked you to support me? Don't support me. I don't need your support."
Something broke in that moment though I didn't realize it at the time. The fight went on for a little more time and my son tells me I collapsed in the balcony. I have vague recollections of trying to understand where I was until I finally realized I was slumped on the floor.

Two days later, he gave me a letter. Said he acknowledged he had a mental illness (he'd been diagnosed with some form of schizophrenia when he was 22) and what triggered it off was if he couldn't eat and sleep on time, if people yelled around him, and if the TV was on in the evenings. (Of course, he gets to watch it during the day, but I'm not supposed to watch it to unwind after 11 hours at work because it kills brain cells and some research showed that the brain took 2 hours to shrug off the effects of TV viewing so the TV has to be shut 2 hours before going to bed.)

I'm also supposed to be a TV addict. Me, who hasn't the faintest idea what's even on television on any channel you can name.

Oh yes, and he hates white rice and stale food too. 'Stale' is defined as chapatis cooked in the morning which are heated at night.

So to cut a long story short, here's what I need to be doing.
1. Define the problem. (I still haven't done that.)
2. Decide what to do about it.
3. Decide how to do it.

Easier said than done.
The doc helped define the problem, although I haven't come to terms with it yet:
Here is a man who has said very clearly that he lives for today. So he doesn't want to take responsibility for the family's long-term financial security. He wants to enjoy the sunsets today. He refuses to make compromises in day-to-day life: if he can't cook, that's not his fault. But it is my fault if I don't cook the food he likes. He's been at home for more than a year and I haven't grudged him that, but he refuses to acknowledge that, let alone appreciate it. Yes, he is a nice father. But that's also because his idea of parenting involves zero disciplining (unless he's in a bad mood) and a give-the-kid-what-he-wants attitude. Yes, he does look like he's searching for another job, but he's not in any hurry about it. And he's made it abundantly clear that he'd rather just sit at home and write books. Even if the first one isn't successful, it doesn't matter.

So what am I going to do? Frankly, I have no idea. Before I saw the doc, I thought I would try doing exactly what he wanted me to do. We sit at the dinner table to have dinner. I don't watch TV (actually, he made a 'concession' - apparently, it was me and my son haggling over the remote that made him upset. So I could watch TV from 9.30 to 10.30 if we had dinner at the table at 9 pm. Hmm...nice. But I guess I just didn't want to take any chances. So I've stopped so much as looking in the direction of the TV. And I have all my meals at the table, just like he wants. And I speak when I'm spoken to...I speak nicely too. But I can't bear to make eye contact for more than a few seconds. That's never happened before.

There are limitations to carrying this on endlessly, of course. Which is what led to my mini-breakdown 10 days back in the morning. I gave him a written note that morning (just about the only way to have a civil conversation) and then realized what a mess I was in. Reached office and realize I had no clue what I was doing, so I finally went to seek help.

The meds help. The doc has reduced my dosage. They keep me on an even keel, so to speak. The waves of desperation, dread and anger have all softened somewhat. I'm more in control, but this is artificial. I need to really be in control on my own. I have no idea how I'm going to do it. But just "feeling" better about myself helps a great deal. At least I feel I can do something. First step. I give myself six weeks from today to make a decision. That's why I'm documenting this. To see if I keep this promise I've made to myself.

(Originally posted on Thursday, December 20, 2007 on an earlier blog, now deleted.)